Sickdays and Comfort
by Imaginebeingsafe
Summary: All the hurt and sickness and being taken care of by Jack And Mark! Not just physical hurt, either. Author is self-indulgent.
1. the first day isn't usually so bad

Waking up to unhappy cursing was a bad sign.

Mark opened his eyes, your side of the bed was empty, and there was blood in a particular spot…

It wasn't anything that hadn't happened before. The sheets needed to be soaked in cold water, they were older- you'd gotten your cycle down to the week of and prepared the bed.

He heard the shower start.

He sighs. The team was ready to start a new project, You were eager to be camera girl.

You were good at it, reading him and never taking long to get the shots he wanted.

But now this…

You came out wet haired, in a robe.

"Are you going to be okay, today?" Mark asks, wanting to give you an out.

"Yes. The first day is never that bad for me."

An hour or so later, what you had said earlier felt like you had lied straight to his face.

It wasn't- what you'd said was normally true. But mother nature was an evil bitch sometimes.

But you felt guilty. He needed you on this project. So you kept going.

Even though it felt like the painkillers you'd taken never quite kicked in.

Even though, when you broke for lunch, you were too worried it would come back up later to eat much.

As evening crept closer, you were flagging.

You'd slipped into going through the motions, trying to ignore the pain in your lower abdomen, the exhaustion you felt sweeping through you.

When Mark called cut, you saved what had been filmed, and sat on the ground near one of the walls, pulling your legs in so you're sitting cross- legged.

It was a mistake, you had no idea how'd you get up again. Then again, you didn't care that much at the moment.

The others attention was elsewhere.

You wrapped both of your arms around your stomach, and leaned forward, your head close to the carpet. When your stomach was upset this sometimes helped, and you hoped it would this time.

You weren't paying attention, too focused on not making noise, or drawing attention to yourself.

A warm hand on your shoulder. You lifted your head up.

Mark. With the softest eyes and a small sweet smile that was just for you.

It was quiet, and you relized everyone had left.

"We're starting filming again a day from now."

He looked at you, and then continued.

"It won't change a thing, this isn't something I've hyped.

I've talked about it, sure, but it's a surprise. No-ones waiting. You aren't stopping anything from being done."

For Mark could read you, too. He knew you worried about failing. Failing him, failing the fans.

"Let's go home, Y/N"

He held out a hand to pull you up.

You wobbled, and his hands went to your sides to steady you.

"I gotcha, baby. It's okay." He murmurs, pulling you to him, resting his head on yours.

You groan softly.

"I'm just glad today's over. God, and tomorrow's more of the same"

Mark's hand slid up and down your back.

"Tomorrow's tomorrow. We'll get through it."

Now you were on the bed the two of you shared.

Mark was laying flat, and your head was on his stomach. You were curled on your side, legs pulled up so you were slightly fetal.

You were holding one of Mark's hands, his other one switched between stroking your hair, playing with it, or stroking your side.

Your other hand held the small heat pack, that looked like a black furred kitten with blue eyes, to your belly.

You got up one more time to change what needed to be changed, and then curled back where you were.

You'd taken more painkillers, they were kicking in. Heat pack was working it's magic.

You started to fall asleep, waking only for a moment as Mark shifted, getting into a position he could sleep in. He pulled you partway on top of him, wrapping an arm around you, then relaxed again.

When you woke up next, it was light out. You could smell breakfast in the air- Pancakes, bacon, coffee- was that chocolate, too?

Your stomach snarled it's displeasure at having been neglected yesterday.

You went to the bathroom, cleaned up, and headed down stairs, not bothering to change out of your pajamas.

Mark smiles when he sees you.

"I was going to bring this up to you, but since you're up-

-unless you want to go back to bed!"

"No. I may not be up for much today, but I should at least get out of bed."

You smiled as he placed a plate with chocolate chip pancakes and bacon in front of you.

"See, I'm learning," He said with a wink.

You huffed a laugh.

Today would not be hard. Not with this wonderful man beside you.

When you walked into the living room after breakfast, there was another surprise waiting.

Mark had turned the couch into a blanket nest.

"I thought a nest, and whatever show you'd like to marathon would be a good day."


	2. Life Left To Go

**A/N none of this is based in reality. this is just a story. It's just stuff pulled from my head, that i think others might like.**

 **senactances like -** _hello_ **\- are song lyrics from life left to go, by Safetysuit.**

It falls apart in pieces.

Work. Oh, work.

The same complaints:

"Why is it so expensive? Why don't you have 'seasonal item?' I just got it yesterday!"

There were others who treated you as sub-human, barking orders like you were a machine.

You liked working stock, but it had it's downsides.

Dylan, who worked along side you half the time was pissed that a female was assigned to work with him. You did the same work as him, but he didn't see it, just every mistake.

Which he never let go.

Then there was Isabella. You'd liked her until she'd seen you taking your anti-depressants.

She'd chimed in with a "Aw, you don't need those. Just exercise, and this awesome diet I found!"

Every so often she'd chine in with a-

"I found this supplement/juice mix/new exercise routine. It helped me when I was low, try it!"

You wanted to laugh in her face sometimes. If that worked for her, she really had no problems.

That's not how it works.

Everyday, every week the same.

And home, home was almost worse.

You used to be able to make something of your days off, spent them creating. Pages of doodles, paragraphs of worlds.

Now you'll spend hours looking at a blank page, until your phone goes off, reminding you that the world needs you to keep going.

You do your best to act normal, to keep up.

Sometimes you are grateful that Jack loves pizza so much, because you just can't gather the energy to cook sometimes.

But it's hard. You wake exhausted, you go to bed exhausted. There is no inbetween.

Sean asks you to help with a video.

All you remember in the end, is all the times he'd had you adjust because you hadn't gotten it perfect the first time.

He was never harsh, didn't snap. Just gently corrected, or showed you again what he needed.

You're amazed he didn't snap, or yell. You could feel all the mistakes.

You were always making mistakes.

He probably used you because you were the easiest solution.

If he'd had any one else to film, you knew he'd drop you in a heartbeat, you were sure.

After, you're in your office, which you're using less as a workspace, and more as a place to hide, now.

You're hit with memories of the first time you helped him, of laughing. Of being proud.

It makes you cry.

This video was nothing to be proud of. Robin will probably protest the quality. Sean will have to do it on his own somehow. Be better that way.

You reach for Andrew, the bear had since you were three. He lives in your office now, you don't need him to sleep, you have a Sean to hold, and keep away the nightmares.

You'd feel guilty, though, just tossing him in a box.

You hold him, face buried in his fur and you smell home and childhood.

It keeps you grounded enough to not make you act. To pay for your mistakes, and failures.

+flashback+

You used to.

Clawing at your arms, trying to tear it all away, scratching-scratching-scratching, left raw-red.

Shut up the voices.

Useless. Clumsy. Failure. Fuck up. Worthless. Why would anyone want you? For anything?

The red lines proof of payment for all that was wrong about you.

The look on Sean's face when he'd seen. God you never wanted to see that look again.

How'd he'd checked meticulously for blood, for split skin. Because to you it wasn't hurt at all.

How he'd then kissed every inch of red skin, looking at you with only love in those forever-blue eyes.

Made you promise to come to him before this happened again.

How he had found other ways to help:

Drawing on your skin with washable markers: loving words, nonsense patterns.

Trailing ice cubes down your arms, as non harmful sensation.

Little things to mimic, but not hurt.

The day the video posts, Sean is buzzing about the fans reaction, how much they love it.

You smile, but it's forced. The first time a video you'd helped with posted, it had felt like fireworks.

Now nothing.

But Sean doesn't see, already talking about the next one. The mask is perfect.

Then the next day off you have you don't really get out of bed. You grab Andrew from your office, go back to bed, curl up with him and sleep.

You wake up to the sunset and the sound of footsteps in the hall.

Sean.

You're so thirsty that your throat hurts, but he looks concerned, and you hate that you've put that look on his face.

So you ignore your needs and put your mask on again

-And the mask you put on

It's like words in a song

But there's more to be seen-

"I'm okay, just- it's been busy at work. Tiring. Just needed to catch up on sleep."

It works again.

Pizza and Spider-Man:Homecoming.

Though it goes too quick, suddenly it's credits and you're blinking back confusion because you'd not really been watching at all. Didn't really eat your share of pizza either.

You just want bed again, to be honest.

But that night, sleep is not coming. Thoughts run through your head. Sean's next video, work the next day, just life. How much there is of it. How you just want to sleep, and not wake up.

The next day you're stocking, and you completely and utterly fuck it up. Your foot gets caught on something, and you knock a ton of boxes over. You see it, all you've caused. Your eyes sting with tears.

Dylan is screaming.

"YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT! I TOLD TASHA NOT TO LET A GIRL WORK BACK HERE!

QUIT FUCKIN' CRYIN' - YOU AREN'T HURT!"

Tasha, the main manager had heard the noise and had come running.

She did the right thing, asked if you were okay.

After telling you to take the rest of shift off, she dragged Dylan to her office, you caught him getting berated for what he'd said as they walked off.

You head home.

You hadn't gotten hit by any of the boxes, but you still ached, and you go to get Tylenol.

Opening the cabinet, you briefly think of just taking the bottle with you and just going.

Driving as far as you could, finding some forgotten spot.

Just taking them all, bit by bit. If it hurts it's okay. It'd be okay.

Just go, don't make Sean deal with you anymore. Just go. Just end it.

He'd be okay. He'd find someone better.

The thoughts scare you so bad you slam the cabinet shut, and walk quickly back to your office.

You pass by his recording room, hear his laugh, and feel nothing.

-And you can't help but wonder

Would anyone come after you

If you'd leave-

Writing exercise, was all it was meant to be, just timed and pen moving.

Then you look down.

To my Sunshine.

My Sean.

I can't do this anymore.

All I can see is all the wrong I've done.

I need to disappear. You'll be better off without the fuck-up.

You made me so happy, never forget it.

I'm so sorry. I love you.

{F/N L/N}

You look at what you'd written in horror. Fuck that, you are not that far gone yet.

You crumple the sheet, heedless of when it lands. Out of sight, out of mind.

Filming day, again.

You're still doing nothing right.

"Almost got it. Hang on." Sean corrects you again, You feel his hands on you, gentle, moving you where he needs you to be

You want bed, or to hide in your office with Andrew. He'd not get tired.

You are focused on Sean, you don't feel the tears.

"Y-Y/N? are- are you ok?" He asks, scared. This has never happened before in front of him.

But you don't hear him, his worry, his fear.

You just see another failure, and something snaps.

That's it. You're done. He can see it now- how pathetic you are.

And you're running. Office door, slam shut behind, You just need a moment- to-

To what? He saw. 

Failure. Fuck up. Useless waste.

Worthless. Worthless. WORTHLESS!

You don't realize you've pulled up your sleeves, that you've settled, sitting in the same corner, that you're breaking a promise, until the door bursts open.

"Y/N? Please, don't!"

You don't drop your arms, just fold them, and slide a hand on each side, holding the upper parts.

He goes to his knees in front of you. Places his hands on your knees, looks at the eyes that want to hide from him.

"Talk to me, please."

And it spills like a flood.

Work, how you're always tired, Last night, the pills, the thoughts. How you've been failing him for awhile now.

-And the failures you see

Don't seem failures to me here at all-

"Why don't you hate me yet? I hate me."

-So a pain grows inside

And a fear comes alive

Like you'll never be free-

The rest of your words are lost to sobbing, and he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, wrapping arms around you

You sit there, cradled in Sean's lap, and you cry, harder than you have in a long time.

It's ugly, there's parts where you can't quite breathe it hurts so much.

But Sean just holds you.

Sean rocks you, plays with your hair, all the things he knows that you like.

Never says "stop crying".

Just stays.

When there is nothing left but the hitching sobs of after:

"Sorry," You were able to gasp out, throat scratching painfully with the effort.

"Shh, it's alright," Sean whispered, so gentle, so soothing.

"I'm here, you're going to be okay, Y/N"

"I don't deserve you." You gasped, eyes shut, trying to breathe normally

"Shh, of course you do, of course you do," His voice was soft with tenderness.

-But there's no pain you feel

That I know love can't heal here at all-

"You'll call for an appointment in the morning, okay?"

"Will you sit with me when I call? And go with?"

"Of course. Whatever you need, Sweetheart."

He puts you back on the floor for a second, you're confused and a little hurt, until he stands and scoops you back into his arms.

"I'm not leaving you out of arms reach for awhile, Y/N. But, this is where you've been hiding your hurt, and I don't want to stay here."

"Did you want Andrew with us?"

"No. I've got you. You're better."

Made him smile, a little wobbly, but real.

He carries you to the bed you share.

"Ok, new plan. I need to get a few things. Stay here."

You grab one of his pillows, and nestle into it, catching his scent.

It's a little better, right now.

Sean appears, arms full. He passes you a bottle of water, a pint of cookie dough ice cream and a spoon.

He has his own water and spoon.

He hands you some Tylenol, too.

You cuddle together, pass the ice cream, and watch Guardians of the Galaxy.

You stir to dim light from the window, and Sean awake.

You know Sean does not stay in place unless he's recording, so you know he's not going to stay.

"I need more sleep," you rasp, still sore from last night.

"Do wha' ya need t'do," you continue, voice already sleep slurred.

He takes your hand, kisses your fingers and palm.

He slides your phone within reach.

"Don't hesitate, text me if you need anything. Even if it's because you miss me."

"Mmhn"

You can't keep your eyes open.

"I love you sweetheart."

He sees the smile that spread on your face. It's enough.

Sean decides to clean your office as a kindness.

He pulls papers out from your desk, uncrumpling them to check he's not tossing anything important.

"To my sunshine…"

His eyes widen in horror.

He can't stop tracing the words with his eyes, too much there, not enough, though.

Never enough.

Not if they're meant to be Y/N's last on earth.

He rubs absently at his chest, trying to ease some of the ache burning through it.

She got that far, and he's left her alone.

He takes the paper and runs.

You are still asleep when he gets back.

He lies back down and grabs you gently

He'll let you sleep, but he's not letting you out of his reach until the two of you talk.

-Oh, I'm begging you, no

There's more life left to go

Oh, I'm begging you, please

Cause I, I don't want you to leave me-

You wake to morning light, and Sean cuddling you

When you tried to move you found that, no.

You were not being cuddled. You were being protected.

What the hell had happened while you slept?!

"Sean? What's going on. I just slept. I'm still here."

Sean pulls you closer

"Don't leave me."

"What? I'm not. What's wrong?"

He let you go, and swept up the paper from the floor, dropping it into your lap.

You wince at it, and look down at your lap in shame, but Sean's not having any of that, and reaches for you. Cupping your face, he spreads his fingers so his hands are covering most of it, raising it so that you have no choice but to look at him.

"Does it help that I meant to burn that?" You respond to the look on his face.

"I did a exercise, trying to get something creative out, when I wrote that. It was just pen moving, just thought on paper."

"I'm- Not. Last night helped."

"Forgive me if I'm not okay with it."

"I'm sorry," your voice goes soft with shame and fear.

"No, don't. Not for last night, you needed it. That scared the shit out of me, though."

You call your doctor, Sean beside you, holding your hand the whole time.

After, you kiss him.

"Thank you. For all of this."

Sean wraps his arms around you, and laid back on the couch you were sharing.

He tucks your head against his chest, and you feel his voice rumble through you.

"That's what we do, lift each other up. You've done that for me a million times. Why wouldn't I do the same?"

And you know it's a uphill fight. But you are not alone.


	3. Don't Cry, Sweetheart!

**A/N-none of this is based in reality. This is just a story. It's just stuff pulled from my head, that i think others might like.**

You knew it was a bad idea from the time Mark asked.

But, wearing the camera rig was important, you were playing the same Pov character as a Date with Markiplier.

You liked the idea, until you read the script.

There was a point where, as Mark was playing Dark, Dark was going to get up close and angry and loud.

Mark knew you had issues with yelling.

But he'd planned in advance.

The two of you were going to film alone, and when you said stop it would.

Besides it wasn't like it was Mark yelling at you. It was all in character as Dark. Dark was just a story.

"Maybe, you're right," Mark conceded the night you were packing to go.

He's been thinking about it, and doubting.

He can remember the last time you'd reacted to yelling, the table next to you at a dinner out had a huge group. The males in it were drunk, and had gotten loud.

He remembers how you flinched and practically buried yourself into him at one point

"Maybe you shouldn't do the scene.

I just don't want you getting hurt because you think you need to do something, prove yourself

I-"

"Says the man who made the ghost pepper promise," you interrupt with a pursed-lip scowl

Mark winces.

"I'm going to be fine. I'm doing this. About time I took one for the team, anyways."

+Mark's Pov+

I should have known better.

I tried. After every take, I checked. Dropped character, reassured Y/N she was doing fine.

There's a part where Dark grabs the POV character. After the third time, she was trembling.

That's when I needed it to be done.

A dozen, half a dozen- don't know, lost count- takes later. There are tears flowing unchecked.

"Are we done yet? Can we be done?" _Jesus, her voice is dead._

"Yeah, I think we're done here."

She takes the rig off, puts everything safe and right, so we don't have to do this again.

Then, she bolts.

I'm stunned for a second, then I'm after her.

I see her in the twilight, on the edge of the concrete.

She bends over and vomits into the grass.

I don't know if it's nerves or fear or anxiaty, but I know Y/N's got a dodgy tummy at times, so…

I'm stepping over to her, when her knees give out.

In the dim, she's facing the grass, a hand over her mouth, tears flowing silently, every so often there's an abortive heave.

I step behind her. She turns, grabs the leg of my suit, and just hangs on for a moment.

Then, she's up, scrubbing the tears, snot, and bile off her face with her sleeve.

I reach for her. I don't know if she'll make it all the way back to our room.

She's hesitant.

"I don't give a fuck about the suit, Y/N. I need to get you inside."

I gently tug her wrists near my neck, and it sparks her, she hangs on, and wraps her legs around my waist.

"Good girl."

I step through the door, and turn us toward the hallway that leads to our bedroom. The room she'd picked out when I'd showed her the place we were renting to film in.

"That room is ours," she'd said, resting her head on my shoulder.

She has dammed good taste.

I carry her in, and place her on the four poster bed big enough to hold at least four if not five pepole,

and go to wash the makeup off and take off the suit.

When I get back, she's kicked off her jeans and is laying on her back with an arm on her belly, and her eyes closed.

I grab a small can of coke from the small fridge under the TV.

Fame has it's perks sometimes- the owner of this place has stocked this place with all sorts of things to make us comfortable.

And I'm sure Y/N needs something to settle her stomach. I know what it looks like on her.

I set on the bed and reach for her.

+Y/N's Pov+

I take the can of soda and fit myself against Mark like a puzzle piece.

Taking off that dammed suit helped, the makeup's gone.

As his arms wrap around me, I feel like I've got MY Mark back.

The coke helps settle my stomach. It still gnaws with hurt a little.

My chest is another thing. Since Mark walked out with that suit and the make-up, since he slipped into that demeanor….

There's been a balloon in my chest filled with everything wrong about the last few hours. It's moved my heart and lungs out of place. It aches, but it's not going anywhere.

Maybe I can sleep it off….

I feel Mark cup my face.

"Don't fall asleep, yet. I have plans."

He moves away from me and steps into the ensuite

"Clothes off, Baby," he calls out.

I comply.

That particular tone in his voice? Means everything good.

I need that to pull myself together.

He comes out with towels and a bottle in his other hand. He's just in a pair of baby blue boxers and nothing else.

My eyes take him in, he's deadly gorgeous, my Love is.

He spreads out a towel, then motions me over to lie on it.

I know part of his plan, and I'm all for it. He straddles me, enabling his reach to my upper body. I hear the pop of a cap and smell almonds and honey.

Then two hands land gently on my uppermost back, near my neck. The oil on them is warm this time. He tends to either forget to warm the oil or maybe he likes the fact that I shudder at the cold, I have no clue.

As his hands slide down the length of my shoulders and down my arms, I relize what's going on.

This isn't foreplay. That feels completely different, this is something Mark does from time to time. It's skin to skin, comfort, and connection. It's intimate, yes, but with no end goal.

It's just for me, has to be, because I don't know what he could get, out of this.

I did ask once.

"Sometimes, I- I need that connection. To know that you're here. That we're together. I love that you need me, Y/N. Taking care of you is my favorite thing."

I love it too, because it means he sees me. Sometimes I swear he's the only who does.

It means he sees me when I'm _hurting_ , and he wants to make me _happy,_ and that?

 _That's everything._

Mark continues his work, getting up at the halfway point, guiding his hands all the way to the tips of my toes, massaging gently until I'm a lump of Y/N-dough.

I hear him step away. Then the roar of the bathtub tap. He comes back and presses a kiss to my neck.

"Now, I know you have bath stuff. I know you always bring something with you when we travel.

Where is it?"

"It's in my suitcase, the little bag with the soot sprites. Are- are we going to share?"

 _Because bath bombs are my thing, mostly, and I don't want one if he doesn't-_

"Yes. What do you want, I had no idea you packed options."

"Oh, if we're sharing, there can be only one."

I get off the bed then, because if we are going to use this one, I want to see his reaction.

I step onto tile and shudder slightly, everything's been warm until that.

"I didn't mean for you to join me," he says upon seeing me.

I can feel my face change, his eyes widen in slight panic.

"No, shit. That came out wrong. I just- had a plan in my head, you know how I am.

I always want you with me, Sweetheart."

I grab the bag off the counter, and pull out a blue bath bomb with pink and yellow swirls. It looks like a planet in my hand.

I pull off the wrapper and toss it into the filling tub. As it absorbs water, foam spills from it, also streaks of color.

As I swish the water, he gets it.

"Holy shit, it's a space bath."

I turn to face him and give him a happy little nod.

It's full enough, so I turn off the taps and wait for him to get his boxers off.

He gets in first, then helps me in with careful hands.

I settle between his legs, and lean against his chest.

We just relax, just be in the warmth of the water.

Every so often he trickles handfuls of water down my back and shoulders from his cupped palms.

It's soothing, as everything in this room has been. We've made good memories here, and we have the rest of the week to make more.

The water's cooling as Mark stands and then helps me out.

He hands me a towel and takes one for him.

We head out of the ensuite, Mark goes to grab what he'll be sleeping in, I sit on the bed for a moment.

The towel gets tossed away, and I get to take Mark au natural. Stunning.

Shining.

Oh. Dear. _I forgot how much the glitter sticks._

Both my hands fly to my mouth to muffle the giggles I can't control.

Mark's…. Glitterfied No, that's not even a word.

I catch his eyes. He's… worried?

Oh. My laughing's silent, because I was trying to hide it, and now he's worried I'm crying because all he can see is shaking.

 _He's gilded._

I pull my hands away and laugh outright.

"You. You're. You're gilded, Mark!"

That's what comes out, that makes sense inbetween my laughter.

That balloon? From before? It popped.

Everything's good.

He tosses me my sleep clothes, it looks like it's just boxers for him tonight.

I drop my towel, too, not giving a fuck.

Once I'm dressed, Mark gives me a look, then proceeds to tackle me onto the bed.

That look screams trouble, what is he…?

His hand catches my wrists and he lowers his head, brushing my shirt aside.

NO.

Raspberries! Friggin' raspberries!

Six of them, two at a time on my tummy, until I'm breathless with laughter.

He lets go, and I start to curl up like a roly-poly bug.

It exposes my back. Bad idea on my part, because I've got a weak spot on my lower back, and Mark takes advantage.

He lightly scratches. It's all he has to do. I'm electrified.

It tips over, I can't take it- I call out:

" _St- **AHH** -oop!_

 _I C- **aaa** -n't!_

 _Pl- **eee** -se!"_

My eyes burn for a moment, and he jerks away.

" _Shit._ **Fuck**. Sorry, baby."

His hands go back, firm, but gentle. Stroke my sides, soft little circles on my tummy.

"I'm… Sensitive, tonight," I say when I'm calmer. "I'm sorry you have to deal with-"

Mark's hands cup my face. A kiss to my forehead, both my cheeks, the softest one lingering on my lips.

"It's alright, Y/N. Whatever you are is what I want, always."

He rolls over and gets comfortable.

I go with what I want, and climb on top of him.

"Is. Is this okay?" I ask, still hestitant.

"Always, Y/N," he repeats as I snuggle into his warmth.

"There's my sweetheart, that's it."

I'm drifting peacefully, as his arms go around me.


	4. I'll keep you safe

I remember how it started. I was, thirteen, maybe fourteen? School was always rough for me, I had problems with all of it. I was bullied, because I was different.

I picked books, writing, and drawing because not once in my life had they let me down. Everything else seemed to.

My mother was barely able to hold down a job, My sperm donor- because that's all he ever was, never bothered with me

I had issues with math, and no matter how mom tried, she couldn't get through. Some of it just would not stick. I wasn't what she thought I would be, anyways -what was one more thing?

I was never pretty. Not like the other girls. Glasses, never any brand new clothing, or the wrong kind if I tried.

I stole a cigarette. I wanted to see if they'd do for me whatever they did for her.

I dropped it in the ensuing coughing fit, and it landed on my leg.

There was a brilliant pain, and everything seemed, muted, somehow.

I relit it, and pressed it to another part of my leg. The voices stopped.

I switched to matches, because there were always matches in our junk drawer.

The cutting started after I moved out. Because I had no matches, and the voices wouldn't stop

 _ **Ugly, weirdo, freak, stupid, fuck up, worthless, unlovable.**_

I broke a dish, and it went from there. Now I use an exacto knife

It went too far once, when I was in my early twenties. I got some help then, and stopped for a while.

My roommate found me, after I'd lost a lot of blood. Never looked at me the same.

The same was true of the last guy I'd been brave enough to try dating.

Once he'd seen the scars he'd called me fucked up, crazy, a freak. And left. I wasn't worth it.

I met Mark through of all things, my love of animals. See, I volunteer at an animal shelter, and on Saturdays we take the dogs to a dog park for socialization. We set up a table, too. Hand out flyers.

But my job that day was handling two sweethearts I'd gotten to name myself. A Rottie named Banner

{think, instead of Bruce, because not Batman, that's why Banner.}

And a shiba inu I'd named Dean.

It started after I'd thrown Dean's ball, and it had landed near Chica.

I'd had to interfere, _Dean does not share._

Nothing bad happened, poor Chica got Shiba screamed at, but I got to my problem child before he could do anything more than be a loudmouth.

"Sorry about that," I'd said apologetically to Mark after I'd gotten Dean under control.

"This one forgot his manners."

"Or, maybe-"

I added as I leaned down to pet Chica's head after she'd rubbed up against me, not caring about Dean in the slightest.

"-He lost his head around this pretty girl, and went cave-dog. Either way I apologize. He certainly won't."

"No harm done," Mark had said, and then we were interrupted again.

See, Banner knows why we come here. He'd been doing the rounds happily. Now it was time for him to come back and make sure he doesn't get forgotten.

He does this by leaning into you until you pet him. He's almost knocked me down a few times, he's a big guy.

"Banner, buddy. I know you're there, didn't forget."

I pet his head, and it gets worse before it gets better. I really don't need to be knocked down in front of Mark.

"Ok, treat time."

Because it was a way I could get them to stay in one place for a minute.

"Chica can have some, too. I bake them at home, for the dogs at the shelter."

 _'God, this is stupid. Why would he care? You talk too damn much.'_

"…They deserve something good, too," I finish. It sounds lame to my ears

I lead the boys to the bench where my bag is, and grab a baggie of treats.

"Banner, Baby, sit for me?"

He does.

"Good boy! Here's your favorite, Pumpkin-blueberry!"

He slurps it from my hand.

I hold out another bagful to Mark.

Banner puts his head in my lap.

"Aw, I love you, yes I do."

Dean whines.

"You're not getting any, you weren't a gentleman."

Mark laughs at that, and I look up in suprize. I expected, after the treats, he'd be done with us. because I'd repaid Dean's stupidity.

Dean, the drama king, jumps up on the bench after Banner goes back out to play.

He sticks his head in my lap, and licks my fingers.

"Okay, okay that was a sorry." I give him a treat, too.

Mark surprises me again by asking for my number.

I'm braver with the boys than I am alone, so I say yes and we trade numbers.

I don't actually expect him to contact me.

But he does.

Slowly, but surely, We're. Something?

Sometimes I think so.

One morning, everything that can go wrong, does.

I'm sitting at my desk, meant to be doing work. All I want is my matches.

Just a little burn, make the ache of failing go away…

My phone chimes.

 **Good afternoon, Y/N -Mark.**

 **How are things?-Mark.**

 **Today is not that great.** **I'm sure you don't want to hear me complain.** **Shouldn't you be recording?- Y/N**

 _I'm sure that's what should be happening at this time of day._

It takes him a bit to answer,

My mind spits:

 _'You're not worth his effort or attention, there are so much more important things he could do-'_

 ***Chime***

 _Some things_ _ **are**_ _more important. Priorities, Y/N.-Mark_

My head feels fuzzy as I try to process that. Mark thinks talking to _me_ is important?

Then shock of all shocks, my phone rings, his name lighting up the screen.

"I'm a priority?"

That's the first thing that flies out of my fool mouth when I anwser.

 _"Yeah."_

He means it, too.

Before it can get awkward, he continues.

"So, bad day, huh? Tell Markimoo all about it."

He's so earnest and sweet that I do.

I don't do this. With pepole. Sometimes I vent with the dogs in the shelter, they don't judge.

He listens. Doesn't judge. Then he changes the subject.

"Next Saturday night. You. Me. Chica. A few _**surprises**_. You interested?"

I'd be at the shelter all day, adoption drive. But it'd be a good night.

"Yeah. Yeah. That. That sounds great."

 _'Be more awkward, geez.'_

 _"_ Perfect! _"_

You can _hear_ the smile. Just because I said yes.

On Saturday, I'm tired but happy as I greet him.

"Banner got adopted today. The family's picking him up on Tuesday. I knew they were it for him, the oldest boy picked up on the name right away, and the littlest boy couldn't stop patting him."

"That's wonderful. Oh, but you'll miss him, though. You've been in charge of him for a few months, haven't you?"

He gets to the heart of things _so_ easy. He understands that I love those dogs while I have them like they are my own.

He doesn't even complain when I sit in the back with Chica. I'm still rapt, focused on him, I just have a Chica head in my lap.

We drive, and drive. We hit darkness and desert.

He parks and we get out. My hoodie isn't out of place here, it's a little cold.

He spreads out a blanket, and grabs a cooler from the back.

Sandwiches, pasta salad, fruit. Cookies, lemonade. A midnight picnic. Then laying back, sholder to shoulder, and watching the sky.

y journal about that night.

 **I remember being fifteen, and going outside and wanting to sleep and not wake up, for the stars to be the last thing I saw.**

 **It's not a good memory.**

… **.Mark gave me back the stars last night. That's the memory I'll keep.**

 **He said he loves me. I want to belive it's true.**

The next entry isn't so pleasant:

 **I don't deserve him. Mark's so pure. Starlight, white feathers, good. good. good.**

 **I'm not. I'm cloudy skies. Smoke. Blood, mud, muck. I'll stain him, I'll ruin him.**

 **Someday he'll see it, and he'll be gone like everyone else.**

I text him.

He knows about my depression, about my meds because I take them with food, and hadn't taken them in the morning one day, because I'd had no food in the house, and a lunch date planned with him.

 **I can't go out. Not tonight. - Y/N**

 _'Promises mean nothing to you, don't they?'_

 ***chime***

 **Then I'll come to you.-Mark**

 **You don't have tto- Y/N.**

My fingers shake as I type. He shouldn't have to have to cater to me.

 **I'm coming. No getting out of it!-Mark.**

 ***chime***

 **Pizza okay?-Mark.**

… **Yes-Y/N**

I manage to fix my hair at least. I don't manage to change out of the PJ pants and hoodie.

There's a knock. I lost time again.

I open my door to Mark with a pizza box and a bag on his arm.

He goes to my kitchen- not dirty, I've not had the energy to really cook, so nothing got dirty.

I'm lucky if I want to eat, even.

My stomach reminds me, with a groan and a sharp cramp, that it exists at the smell of the pizza.

Mark's still in the kitchen, he doesn't hear.

I wait.

He comes back with a black cherry sparkling water for me, and a diet coke for himself. I stocked those for him. He has plates and napkins.

"You pick," he says, handing me the remote.

I pick out a childhood favorite, and I keep with the dog theme that is us: 101 Dalmatians, the animated version.

I probably eat too much pizza, and go overboard when he pulls out a carton of Neapolitan ice cream.

But I feel something for once, even it it's just full.

I put on All Dogs Go To Heaven, another childhood staple for me. I don't think Mark's seen it, Because he keeps declaring:

"This is a kids film!?"

Somehow I end up with my head in his lap, he plays with my hair, and I'm watching him more than the movie.

He shifts, near the end.

' _Greedy. Clingy._ ' flits through my head.

I jump away like I got electrocuted.

" _No_ , Sweetheart, come back, please, I just needed to move."

I broke the spell, though. I feel every breath, and my heart pounding.

He leaves and takes all the good with him.

Flame on skin, _Burn._ **Burn** _._ _ **Burn**_. Silence in my head. I paid for it.

I'll do better next time.

I ruin it. I'm not careful enough. He comes to pick me up, and brings Chica

I'm not ready. I don't shut the door right, I don't see her nose her way in. But I hear him open the door all the way before I've put on a long-sleeved shirt.

Several things happen at once. I am sterner with Chica then I ever have been.

" _Go!_ **Out!** _ **NOW!**_ "

She goes.

I grab the door and slam it shut in Mark's face, not even looking to see the anger or disgust that must be there.

Chica starts barking.

My chest hurts, my stomach, too. I can feel every beat of my heart. My legs give, and I smack into the tub. I feel so sick, and cold.

 _'He saw._ _ **He saw!**_ _He'll leave'._

 _My arms. My stomach. The scars and burns and all of me-!_

 _ **Fuck-up. Freakshow. Unlovable.**_

 _'I don't want him to. Don't want him gone_

 _No. no-no-no._

 _I don't want him to go!'_

All that's coming out of me is broken noise, and I can't. I can't.

The door flies open again.

I scramble away, crash against the tub again. I have nowhere to go.

Mark's in front of me.

 _'Why hasn't he left?'_

He reaches for me, for my face.

I can see his brown eyes, shiny with tears that haven't fallen yet.

Why is he sad? He should be sneering, disgusted. He's seen me.

"Y/N, Please, Sweetheart, please talk to me. Please, Baby."

I can see his lips moving, watch his chest slowly rise and fall, feel his breath on my face.

"Okay. Okay. Need to try something else."

He brings his forehead to meet mine.

"Can you breathe with me, Baby?"

 _"In. 1-2-3-4._

 _Out. 1-2-3-4."_

I catch what he's doing and follow along

"That's it, Baby, just breathe with me. I'm right here with you-

You can do this. There you are."

"Why. Why haven't. Why haven't you left, yet?" I stammer brokenly.

"Why would I?

"Look a- at me!"

"I don't see anything besides the woman I adore looking utterly terrified."

He really looks this time. Mark sweeps his eyes across my upper half.

His eyes soften, get even sadder somehow, and the tears that have been there finally fall.

"I wish you had told me sooner. I would have helped you, Sweetheart."

"You, still care? Still. Still love me?"

" _Jesus-!_

-Baby, of course. Nothing changes that."

I can reach for him now and I do, I place my hand on his day old stubble. It's softer than I remember.

Mark kisses my palm with rose petal lips and pulls me as close as he can.

"I know you need more proof than tonight, but please try to belive me.

Come to me next time. If you can do it before you hurt yourself, all the better. But if you slip, I'll be there too."

"I love you, Y/N. I won't ever stop being what you need. I'm here, I gotcha. You're safe now, I'll keep you safe."

It's less that a week. I need it. Need it.

 _I need him._ I promised I'd try.

So I call.

"It's okay, baby. Stay with me, okay? I'm so proud of you for calling."

I can hear him moving, hear him coming to get me.

He chatters about things, keeping me occupied.

"I'm here, Sweetheart. I need you to let me in."

He pulls me into his arms as soon as sees me.

"I want to try something. Do you have any washable markers?"

He grabs red from the box, and pulls me with him to my bathroom.

He holds my left arm in one of his perfect hands.

He scrawls. He does the other arm, Moves onto my tummy, where the worst of the burns are.

I'm mesmerized by red on skin. What he's writing doesn't register.

"Okay."

He holds the shirt up, and I see what he wrote.

 **LOVED.**

 **ENOUGH.**

 **WANTED.**

 **WORTHY.**

I fall apart. Again.

He catches me.

"It's alright. I got you."

"I'm. I'm not. I'm not." My voice breaks.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Mark wraps his arms around me and presses his face to mine.

"Open your eyes. Open those beautiful eyes for me, Y/N. C'mon baby, that's it, you're okay. You're

okay."

I do, but shake my head.

"You. You. You can't mean it."

"Every. Word. I'll repeat it forever, until my heart stops. I love you. _I choose you_ , scars and all."

He scoops me up bridal style.

"I'm getting you someplace comfortable. We're just going to relax, baby, nothing more or less."

The two of us face each other, He's playing with my hair again. I can't keep my eyes open, the sweet smile on his face the last thing I see.

It's the first date like thing we have tried since he found out.

I said I'd try.

But there are just too many pepole. Mark feels me freeze beside him

"I can't. I can't. I'm so sorry," I whimper.

That's when I take off.

He and Chica find me, of course. He never gives up on me.

I'm in the sand of the beach we planned to walk.

Chica gets there first, he lets her go as he sees me. She loves on me like I've been gone forever, even though I only ran like twenty minutes ago, I think.

Then he's there with me.

He effectively blocks out the rest of the world until all I can see is tan skin and eyes that are the color of cinnamon in this light.

He sinks to my level and reaches for me. Kisses my fingers like they are precious.

 _I_ _ **am**_ _precious to him._

"It's you, and it's me and no-one else. They don't care, Y/N. I'm here, and I'm going to make sure you're alright."

"You promise?" I want to belive him, I really do.

"I absolutely promise."

Mark gives me, of all things, an eskimo kiss. It's unexpected, and sweet, and utterly him. He rests his forehead against mine.

"We're in this together."


End file.
